


hold me close (like i’m someone you might know)

by versti_fantur



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, They live in a cottage in iceland, When Glanni gets comfortable hes basically a cat, well its íþróttaálfurinn’s cottage, ”no im not asking for cuddles but ill shove my face into your chest until you hug me”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versti_fantur/pseuds/versti_fantur
Summary: Years have passed and things have changed between them. Íþróttaálfurinn wouldn’t have it any other way//cozy icelandic wintertime oneshot
Relationships: Glanni Glæpur/Íþróttaálfurinn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	hold me close (like i’m someone you might know)

**Author's Note:**

> i _love_ this concept and will almost certainly write more skskskslslslsn

The muted thud of a closing door, followed by the rhythmic clack of heels against the stone floor. Years ago, it would have sent adrenaline shooting through Íþróttaálfurinn’s veins, the anticipation of a fight, or a battle of wits against his sworn nemesis. But now it only brought familiarity.

He knew it probably shouldn’t. But he’d gotten over those feelings a long time ago, and now he never wanted the comforting warmth to stop.

Glanni left remnants of himself all through Íþróttaálfurinn’s life—from the makeup and honeyed-ginger shampoo he discarded amongst Íþróttaálfurinn’s own toiletries, to the lingering smell of his perfume that clung to his clothes when he hung them in Íþróttaálfurinn’s closet (or, as was more often the case, when he tossed them onto the bedroom floor and refused to pick them up again). Even Íþróttaálfurinn himself wasn’t exempt from Glanni’s influence; more often than not, smudged traces of lipstick were a permanent fixture on his cheek, or neck, or wrist. He’d long given up on trying to wash them off once Glanni left him alone, for as soon as they were gone, Glanni would whirl back in and Íþróttaálfurinn would find himself pressed up against a wall, Glanni’s hands hot against his skin, and he wouldn’t pull away until Íþróttaálfurinn’s skin became more purple than tan.

But he would be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

There were the little things too, like how Glanni used the same bedazzled mug for his morning cup of coffee, and knew exactly which type of fish was Íþróttaálfurinn’s favourite (Icelandic cod, even though he always pretended to forget). And in turn, Íþróttaálfurinn knew Glanni’s pizza order (sausage and pepperoni, with melted marshmallows and grated chocolate sprinkled on top. It turned Íþróttaálfurinn’s stomach, and he still wasn’t sure if Glanni ate it just to spite him, because surely no one could actually willingly consume it). And he knew how loud noises made him particularly anxious, and resolved to stay with him when thunderstorms struck, holding him tightly, with Glanni’s face pressed indignantly into his shoulder.

He would protest he was fine, but as the thunder rolled over the darkened moors, he’d clutch him tightly with his eyes screwed shut, breathing shakily as Íþróttaálfurinn’s soft words ghosted over his neck; endearments, and promises of safety. _Together they’d be okay._ Glanni would never acknowledge it afterwards, brushing it off like it was nothing, but he’d squeeze Íþróttaálfurinn’s hand with a mumbled sentence Íþróttaálfurinn never managed to make out, and that was good enough. Íþróttaálfurinn wouldn’t change a thing.

The clicking came to a halt as Glanni leant against the doorway, the side of his lip quirking upwards as he took in Íþróttaálfurinn’s pose—stretched out in the splits across the old sheepskin rug, with a fire cracking softly in the grate beside him. Íþróttaálfurinn let himself smile back, watching fondly as Glanni removed his fur-trimmed coat and hat, hanging them on the peg beside the door and settling himself down into his armchair, his legs tucked up underneath him.

“Were you waiting for me?” Glanni asked as Íþróttaálfurinn pushed himself to his feet, tugging the hem of his knitted sweater down a little, the wool soft and worn under his fingertips.

“Maybe.” He sat down on the arm of the chair, as Glanni wriggled over to give him more space, “I was hoping you’d come back today. I’ve missed you.”

Glanni rolled his eyes, “Sappy old man.” But leant into Íþróttaálfurinn’s side regardless, letting him run his hand through his hair in the way he knew he liked.

“Says you,” Íþróttaálfurinn chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of Glanni’s head, “You’re barely so much as a scoundrel anymore. If anyone’s gone soft it’s you,” he laughed louder as Glanni swatted him with a cushion.

“I’m still perfectly notorious, thank you,” Glanni sniffed, moving over more and pulling on Íþróttaálfurinn’s arm so he slid down into the armchair properly. His not-so-subtle way of telling him he wanted to cuddle. “Now come here, I’m cold.”

“Why aren’t I surprised,” Íþróttaálfurinn nuzzled the back of Glanni’s neck, tickling him with his moustache, “I’ve keep telling you to wear warmer clothes, especially at this time of year.”

“And I keep telling _you_ I’d rather be caught dead in a snowbank than in your hideous outfits,” Glanni retorted, sliding his freezing hands onto Íþróttaálfurinn’s legs to warm them up.

“Gods your cold,” Íþróttaálfurinn said, hissing at the sudden drop in temperature, “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want.”

Glanni shifted again, making himself comfier. His voice was rough, gravelly almost, in a way that Íþróttaálfurinn knew meant he was teetering on the verge of sleep (as if everything else didn’t indicate the same). It didn’t surprise him, really. Glanni hadn’t been here (been _home_ ) in a while, and his escapades and schemes were slowly catching up to him. Íþróttaálfurinn wanted to help, but Glanni never let him. _Some things,_ he said, _I’ve got to do by myself._ Íþróttaálfurinn could respect that. But it didn’t make it any less difficult to see Glanni so exhausted though.

In his arms, Glanni’s breathing slowed, became steadier, and Íþróttaálfurinn could already feel his arm becoming a little numb, but he didn’t mind.

“I missed you too.” A quiet mumble Íþróttaálfurinn would have missed had the cottage not been so silent otherwise, barely audible, and yet it still made his heart swell in his chest. They’d been together (if you could call it that) for a long time, had known each other for even longer, and even still, fleeting affectionate words gave Íþróttaálfurinn pause. Made him remember just how _good_ and _special_ what they had was.

And how he’d never want for anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos warm my wintery heart <3


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